Shadow Butterfly
by Dark Sorceress Hecate
Summary: Good and evil do not exist. Several would like to deny this, but it remains the truth. And slowly, denial is no longer an option for forgotten saviors as they are caught in a spider's web of empty decadence. STORY UPDATED
1. Shattered Psyche

It's kind of funny. They're so wrapped up in their little battles of good –versus-evil that they can't really see the truth.

I guess if I could still feel, I'd find it sad. Maybe I'd even tell them. But as it is....

No way.

There's no way they'd understand. They probably wouldn't even believe me. They're content to wear those masks that Kaosu made.

After all, I'm the hero. The hero is always right, always passionate, always blind. I wonder how much of it is really true. I can't be the only person fate has royally screwed.

Sometimes, I wonder how they'd react. If something happened, and they knew it all. The blood, the tears, the ashes, the streets, the disease, the emptiness. Actually, I know how they'd react. They'd think I was losing my mind.

"_Jesus, Ryo, why are you so melodramatic all of a sudden."_

"_How can you say that? You know it's not true."_

"_Kayura can fix you, don't worry."_

Yeah, right. As if they know my life better than I do. As if I'm some sort of toy that can be fixed with a screwdriver and some glue.

Bastards.

In a lot of ways, I hate them more than I did Arago. At least with him, I didn't have to pretend to feel. We were enemies, we were trying to kill each other, and that was that. I didn't need to pretend to be anything other than empty.

But it's easier to pretend than to let them know, so they won't try to 'fix' me. So I keep smiling, and they keep being arrogant.

It might be fun, just to see the looks on their faces the instant they realize that they aren't infallible. But that will stay a happy fantasy, something to distract me when the void roars with inaudible sound and tries to claim me, once and for all.

I think it's the only thing that reminds me of happiness at all.

Everything else, anger, frustration, love, grief, hope, sadness, even hatred now that Arago is no longer here to fight with, even hopelessness now that hope is gone, they've all vanished.

Disappeared into the void.

I'll never be able to feel again.

I can't even make myself feel sad.

Sometimes, in the long, dark nights when sleep is denied me, I wonder what made me this way. I lie awake and stare at the ceiling, wondering who the hell Ryo Sanada is and when he died. All I know is that he was buried alive, long ago.

Was it when my parents were killed by thieves when I was four? Was it when the gang that adopted me all died around me when I was seven because the authorities wouldn't give medicine to street rats? Was it when my grandfather adopted me at the age of eight because I was the only heir that he would ever have? When I was forced to be absolutely perfect at everything I did, a perfection that left no room for healing?

Maybe it was all of these things. I don't really care. All I know now is that whoever Ryo Sanada was, he's gone. He was lost a long time ago.

I wonder if I'd recognize him.

I wonder if he'd recognize me.

And I wonder why they don't see what's right in front of their noses.

Sometimes I think Seiji might. He's the one I have the most in common with. He too is cast in a role he is not naturally suited to, and he too did not freely choose the yoroi. I think that he was tricked into taking it. Well, he's one up on me; I just took it because it seemed like an easy way to die.

But here I am. Still alive. Again.

Death must like me, so he's saving me for last. After all, I've survived countless disasters that killed everyone else.

So, for now, I am immortal. Even when I try to kill myself, something stands in my way.

Seiji's never mentioned that night, and I think, somewhere in that empty void that was once my heart, that I might have been grateful to him once.

As it is, he's spared me a lot of explaining about being found in the dead of night in a bathroom, holding my wrist out over the toilet, and watching in mild fascination as my wound cries as I have not been able to do for years.

He never said a word, not even when he first opened the door, the door that I could have sworn I'd locked. He just found the first aid kit, bandaged my wrist, cleaned up the blood, and sent me back to my room.

He took my shuriken, but it doesn't matter. I have others.

But I've never been able to bring myself to use them. Why bother, when I'm convinced that I'll only be stopped again, this time by someone not so considerate as Seiji.

But still I fantasize about the release Death would bring.

In Death, I would not have to be the perfect hero.

I would not have to be anything.

And some days, this is all that saves me.

§§§

This was the product of my twisted mind. For several years, I was completely apathetic. To everything. It has given me a slightly different outlook on heroism.

Please review.


	2. Lost Soul

Yeah. It's back. I'm thinking about doing a chapter from the POV of each character.

WARNING: wee bit of shonen-ai here. Mostly unrequited, but can be read as more if you really look hard.

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I wake up, and for a moment I'm not sure why. Then I hear it again.

That soft, almost inaudible creaking.

I sigh.

It's been getting a lot more frequent lately. The nights when he just can't take it anymore and needs to feel something, anything.

He needs the pain.

It fills him, momentarily drowning out the roaring of the void.

I know this. I've spent months putting together his strange, fragile puzzle.

It used to be once, maybe twice a month. He'd get up in the middle of the night when we were all asleep, and creep into the bathroom, letting pain fill the emptiness for a while.

Now it's two times a week, sometimes even three.

I wish that I could help him, but I don't know how. How could I help him when I feel the same way, deep down?

Most people think of me when they think of a 'heart of ice'. Seiji Date, the Ice Prince of the Samurai Troopers.

Well, they're wrong. A good friend of mine makes me look like a rank amateur.

Yes, I am 'icy', but I still let people see myself. What is most amazing about Ryo is that his part is played so well that no one can see past all of his elaborate, painstakingly constructed masks.

Not even me.

Oh, I've gotten much further than anyone else, and I take great pride in this fact, but I'm nowhere near his core.

It's a lot like archaeology; you dig and dig until you find something, and then you have to use tiny brushes to sweep away the debris, making sure that you don't miss or damage anything. I've found a lot, but there's so much more to find. It can get very frustrating.

Sometimes I wonder if it's really worth the trouble. But then I look into those big blue eyes, the eyes of a boy who made up his own last name, and I know that it is.

Because that missing puzzle piece is down there, somewhere. Buried deep, where he has long since forgotten about it, if he was ever really aware of its existence. Buried somewhere that it would never be found.

I'm getting closer with each day. But I have to be careful. Because if I touch him in the wrong way, he'll shatter, and I'll never be able to pick up the pieces.

He is a diamond, hard and unbreakably strong. But there is a flaw, deep in his heart. That flaw is what I've been looking for, but I have to be very careful. If I let him know what I'm looking for, he'll shut down, enfolding himself in yet more layers of lies, and I'll never learn the truth. And even if I do find it, if I strike it wrong, he'll break. Unreparable.

I look at him, and I see myself. A broken, empty little boy, trying to fill the emptiness with something, anything. Willing to play any role, as long as he was accepted. I understand him too well.

But there are still pieces missing.

He's dying. Every time he uses the Kikoutei, it drains away more of the already-short time he has left. Instead of desperately seeking help and trying to avoid ever using it, he uses it at every opportunity.

A normal person wants to live. He wants death to hurry up.

I always knew, even in the beginning. He was always too perfect. He played his role a little too well. I watched him, watched him reach the breaking point.

It came sooner than I expected.

Last winter, the creak of an old floorboard woke me in the middle of the night. I got up, drank some water, and saw that the bathroom door was closed. I opened it, and saw him, leaning against the wall, his arm stretched out over the toilet bowl.

And I was not surprised.

I stopped him then, for my own selfish reasons. I've stopped him every time since, even though I know that he's begging for release inside.

And still, every night, he steps on the same creaky floorboard, even though he knows that it wakes me up.

That's a part of what is missing. I'm so close to the answer, I can almost taste it, but I'm still too far away.

I sigh again, and look at the clock. 2:43 in the morning. Five minutes have passed. It's time to go stop him.

I get up. Unlike him, I am silent as I pad to the bathroom. I open the door. There he is. As always.

He smiles ruefully at me, and I stare. This is the only time that I ever really see him, the boy behind the mask. Those beautiful blue eyes aren't shining with emotion now. They're empty, just like he is. And what is left of my heart aches for him, for the child who could have been real, if it hadn't been for Kaosu's interference.

Kaosu had his hand in Ryo's life from the day he was born. Ryo Sanada, last of his line, last descendant of Hariel. He knew that Arago was going to rise, and that Ryo would, inevitably, be involved. He also knew that if left to his own devices, Ryo might have sided with the demon. After all, it was in his blood.

And so, he systematically destroyed Ryo Sanada, and left a mere shell of a human in his place.

I don't hate Ryo for wanting to die. I hate Kaosu for doing this to him, and Arago for making him do it, and I hate myself.

I am no friend of Ryo's.

I pity him. I pity him, for never being allowed to live. And I love him. And I hate myself for not being strong enough to be his friend.

Ryo doesn't need pity, and he certainly doesn't need love. He can't use either of them to fill himself, so there is absolutely no point in feeling either. Not for him.

Because he can't love me back. He doesn't know how anymore.

And I'm done. I've bandaged the wound, cleaned up the blood, and I'm done.

He smiles crookedly at me, and goes back to his room. Just like always. Always routine.

And just like always, I stand in the bathroom doorway, watching him go. I haven't yet figured out why he always steps on that confounded floorboard, every time, but I will, someday.

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Review, please.


	3. Ego Redux

I forgot the disclaimer. Gomen. If you have problems with substance abuse, you probably shouldn't read this, even if it is non-graphic.

Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai does not belong to me. I merely use the characters as vessels for my thoughts.

Thank you for all of the very nice reviews that I received. This little series is probably one of the few things that I've written that I actually like.

§§§

Touma couldn't sleep. This was normal, and it wouldn't have raised any eyebrows among his friends.

He got up and wandered downstairs. He noticed, in a detached sort of way, that Seiji's door was open. It was never open when he was there. He passed the bathroom, half-expecting to see light in the crack between door and floor; it wasn't the first time that this had happened, after all. But the door was open and the light was off, and he wondered where the other boy was.

He shrugged. It wasn't any of his business.

He went downstairs without turning on any lights, feet automatically taking him to Nasuti's study, seeking her mini-fridge and the bottle of Jack Daniels that she hid there.

Bottle in hand, he wandered back into the kitchen, looking out at the backyard. He took a deep swig, and nearly choked as his brain finally processed what he was seeing.

Two boys sat on the ground by the lake, the smaller one leaning against the other. They passed a bottle of vodka and a joint of pot back and forth, not speaking. They didn't seem to care that they were being watched, though they had to know. The taller one turned and gave the slightest jerk of his head. An invitation. He took it.

As he crossed the grass, he tried not to think about this, about what it could possibly mean. He had known that they were more than they seemed, but he wasn't quite ready to abandon his illusions.

They would be completely shattered by the end of the night, and he knew it.

Ryo looked up at him and, smiling ever-so-faintly, made room for him. He sat, and Seiji passed him the joint over Ryo's head. He took a hit and handed it back.

They spent the rest of the night that way, passing bliss back and forth. They didn't speak. There was no need to. They were who they were, and he was seeing them properly for the first time.

He couldn't take it.

They knew.

And so they did not speak, and Touma pretended not to see the scars limning Ryo's arms, stark in the moonlight. Strange ancient runes perfectly visible under the too-big tank top that he wore for sleeping, scars that were always covered by long-sleeved shirts during the day. He had seen too much already, he couldn't take what he already knew.

Couldn't take the knowledge that they were actually this fragile, Ryo especially. He had the feeling, somewhere vague—buried—that this night, and all the others like it, and there must have been others like it, were Seiji's. The bathroom lights were Ryo's nights.

This had been going on under their noses, probably since the beginning. And he was the only outsider who knew, because he didn't deliberately blind himself.

But he was about to.

And they were going to let him. After all, they didn't care.

So they gave him something to misunderstand.

A long, deep, passionate kiss, initiated by Seiji but reciprocated by Ryo. Touma was all too willing to run with it; it was far too close to dawn, and this could actually be a reasonable explanation.

Touma would sleep well from now on, and if he did wake up to noises during the night, he wouldn't investigate, because he knew full well what those noises would be; or so he thought.

He left, vanishing back into the house. He didn't see the silent wry look that Ryo sent Seiji or Seiji's shrug in response.

It had all been a show.

But Touma had known that all along, anyway.


	4. Mental Deconstruction

I am a monster. I know it, I always have. But still, even I have my regrets.

They haunt me, the deeds done to ensure the survival of the mortal world. But none more so than that child.

I didn't tell them anything, they would not have accepted the yoroi if I had. Tenku seized through curiosity, Suiko through innocence, Kongo through arrogance, Korin through trickery. It was not until long after that any of them knew what it meant to be a yoroi bearer.

But still, after all that I have done, I cannot bear to think of Recca. He was the only one who recognized the yoroi for what it was, and at the time I was amazed that he took it. Who would want to continue living until all else is merely ash, through an endless string of battles that have long since lost their meaning, until the day they finally fall? It was not until later that I realized that he viewed it as easy suicide.

And that, out of all of the things that I have done, is the thing that I have regretted far beyond my dying day.

Even when I did it, I had doubts. Was this necessary? I knew that Arago would rise within his lifetime, knew that his heritage damned him to both sides of the battlefield. But I was unsure. Yes, he was Hariel's descendant, but perhaps this was to be his redemption. To freely choose the side of light, and remain constant without betrayal.

But I could not take that chance. I knew that Arago sensed that bright spirit reborn, and I could not put the fate of one boy above the fate of the Earth.

Yes, I was moved, at least in part, by revenge. If Hariel had chosen the light from the first, we would have won centuries ago. If he had stayed with the darkness, the war would still be over. Because of his betrayal, this war spun out of control and lasted far past its time.

He was the being that I hated most, above all the lords of the demon realm. But this did not justify what I did to Ryo. I knew that reincarnated souls are born without anything to remind them of their former existence, that the boy had a clean slate. But I destroyed him completely.

The man that I hated is gone, but the boy that I grew to love as a son was the one who paid the price.

And I have brought about what I hoped to avoid. He is self-destructing, without purpose or meaning, and there are others who will gladly follow him. Korin is already following his descent, and Tenku is angry as well. And he will gather other allies, in more than one realm.

I feared him, from the moment of his birth, I feared what he was capable of. I convinced his mother to lock away that power, to deny her son his birthright. It was difficult, and I had to enter her dreams many times, and even then, she did not do as I wished. The spell is disintegrating, it has lasted far past its time.

He will be the next demon lord, there is no longer any doubt. He is of the blood, and if he is a hanyou, what of it? He is the reincarnation of the greatest demon lord ever known, with powers far beyond his old strength.

And if he destroys this world, I do not know if I will stop him. It was my fear and vengeance that drove him so far off his path, I have lost the right to meddle in his life.

Because of me, he grew up without anything. He killed his own grandfather, unknowing, because of me. But he is Kenbukyou's heir, the only son of his only daughter, and that will only help him in the future.

I never thought to ask myself if one small, innocent child was worth so many deaths. His parents, his grandfather, the gang who adopted him, all blood on my hands.

Enma asked me, not long ago, if I would still regret my actions if Ryo was not the heir to half of the demonic realm. The greatest mistake of the gods was to make the guardian of the mortal realm a being who did not understand mortality. I was never suited for the position. Because I knew, though I did not say it, that I would not have regretted my actions. There would not be any serious consequences.

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**Quiet Chaos**: Thank you very much. For a lot of things.

**me**: Thank you as well. Yes, I think that I am starting to, and I'm sorry that I couldn't e-mail you, but my computer has issues.

**Raylee Fox**: Yay! Thanks!

**Rogue Ronin**: Thanks, that means a lot to me. I really have trouble with emotions and relations with others. It means a lot to hear people say that I'm getting better at it.

**Stormyrose**: Yeah, I think the ending of that chapter was some of the sappiest crap that I've ever written, but I'm glad that you liked it.

**zorra**: Thank you, I'm glad that someone shares my views about Kaosu. I can't stand characters like that (another example: Albus Dumbledore)! And I actually do have other stories, most of them aren't in this section, though.

**Alexa**: Thanks!

**zorra**: Thank you. That's kind of the way that I write things like this. Please remember that it was from Touma's point of view, and that he was tired, depressed, at least halfway drunk, and not fully informed at the time. I try to get inside characters' heads, and sometimes that leaves gaps.

Wow, I feel so loved. Please review and tell me what you think everybody!

PS— kudos to anyone who can identify the miniscule crossover in this chapter!


	5. Spirit Negative

About a year ago, I tried to take over the world.

I'm no longer sure why, Hell tends to rob you of most of your memories.

But, of course, I was stopped. By a skinny little half-grown kid without a purpose who should have been on my side anyway. He had allies, but they were mainly for support, making sure that no underlings got in the way of our fights.

Looking back, I can see quite clearly where I made my mistake. If I had talked to him, instead of fighting, I'd be sitting on a throne made of human bones right now. If I'd phrased it right, he would have followed me without a second thought, and gladly too. Well, as glad as a kid like that ever is.

The blond kid knew, I could see it in the way he looked at him. Probably didn't know what he knew, but he was a lot more perceptive than anyone ever gave him credit for.

Sanada Ryo. Amago-Mikami no Hariel. Same thing. He's a demon, and a powerful one at that. The rightful lord of the lands that I held in the demon realm.

Come to think of it, he probably would have just killed me and gone right on like he is now. It's not like he ever needed my help. Or anyone else's for that matter. To win this war, Kaosu and I both had to have him, but he didn't need either of us.

Funny. I never noticed it before.

Kaosu was so terrified that Ryo would 'repeat his past mistake' that he forced him into being on his side. He knew that Ryo could become the next demon lord, if he really wanted to, and he thought that the yoroi would ensure his commitment to the cause of Light.

The kid's dead inside, but he's still aware. Still angry. Still powerful enough to do something about it. Just like Hariel. They're the same in so many ways that the soul doesn't even really count anymore.

I think, when it comes down to it, that every person to bear the Kikoutei has a death wish. I think that it's somehow part of the qualification process. They have to be willing, even downright happy, to die for what they're fighting for.

Kaosu created what he hoped to prevent. I could see it even then.

And so, I laughed as I died, consumed by that child's spirit, the most powerful soul that I have ever known.

Their savior will be their downfall.

The pieces are already moving, the boy is sick and tired of being manipulated.

With the blond by his side to help him feel again, he'll be unstoppable.

I died laughing at the irony.


End file.
